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are people becoming more annoying or am i becoming more angry

(Source: juhjamz, via frick-frack-floozy)

,,

When you died, you probably didn’t think that you
would be the cause of so many tears.
you probably thought that by ending your life
you were saving people from shedding them.
you were the black sheep in the family,
the one who felt the pain a little bit more deeply, weren’t you?
the one who crept into corners in order to escape the demons
and no one understood why you retreated into the darkness
rather than exploding into life.
life scared you a little bit, didn’t it?
it was safer to curl up into yourself, to fear the unknown.
were you scared for your daughter? did you fear
that the world would take away her innocence too early,
the way it took away yours? did you fear the day that
her orb-like eyes would be open to the cruelty of his world,
to it’s love and it’s loss? Were you worried
that the rain would take her wonder,
that the skies would take her thunder?
She is twenty now and wishes she could remember her father.
She stays close to the people who loved you because
they are the ones who can tell her that she has your heart.
I know that you did not want to leave her. She knows that you
did not want to leave her, but she still feels
as though she wasn’t enough to make you stay.
I’ve written too many poems with you in mind.
Your mother keeps your photos in the house. They show your smile.
Every once in a while they witness the tears that she cries for
the son she feels she failed. It isn’t so hard for her to think of your life,
but memories of your death bring her to her knees.
I have seen those tears and I have felt that
anguish coursing through her veins and I have wondered how
you could be so thoughtless as to leave a hole in this world
deep enough for people to fall into. She told me that your father died twice-
the day your heart stopped beating and the day, fifteen years later, when his did.
I never met you, and yet I have lost you.
Your death sent ripples across the world; through the past and
into the future, affecting those you knew and loved
and also those who came long after you were gone. I saw
the way that the last decision you made destroyed your parents and
your siblings and it made me think twice about making the same choice.
I have heard the whispers urging me towards death and
I know the way darkness tempts you and I know that
sometimes every breath feels like a knife cutting right through your lungs and
I know what it’s like to be screaming with no one to hear you.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that nobody heard you.
I’m sorry that you were never told that
the suffering would one day make you stronger. I’m sorry that
horrible things happened to you and I’m sorry that
you let them dictate your life, and then your death. I’m sorry
that I will never get to know you. How I wish I could.
At the beginning of this poem I said that
you probably didn’t think you’d be the cause of so many tears
but even now, as I write this, I am crying.
I once romanticized suicide, thinking of white flowers erupting from
a shotgun pointed at the head. I didn’t know of you then.
I didn’t know my own devil yet either.
I know now that there is nothing beautiful about your death.
Poisoning yourself with a lethal gas because
you can’t find a reason to live anymore is ugly and horrible and
terrifying and painful and sad and desperate and I am sobbing now
because all I can think about is whether,
as you inhaled life for the final time,
your thoughts were of relief or of regret.
I don’t know which would be better.

there is nothing beautiful about suicide and there is nothing okay about the devastation you left behind” e.g.w (dedicated to my cousin Gabriel who ended his life at the age of 36, 18 years ago. Hadran Alach.)

(Source: poetic-roses, via praiseful)